


full-spread pride

by wildcard_47



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Alexa: play Celebrate Good Times, Anal Sex, M/M, PWP, Promotion!Sex, Rimming, Whatever Captain Wants Captain Gets, bottom!Francis, top!James
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: James finally gets promoted. After the customary celebrations, he and Francis get to make their own party.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 15
Kudos: 80





	full-spread pride

After three and a quarter hours had passed, with no sign of James’s return from the Admiralty nor the racket of raucous crowds which usually accompanied officer promotions, the unsteadiness in Francis’s hands got the best of him at last, and so he paused in his letter-writing, blotting the ink dry from an unfinished sentence as he sighed out an impatient breath. He felt guilty at holding such visceral longing. It was a day for celebration, after all. James deserved all these festivities and more, now that he was in good health and was able to have his formal promotion at last. And he would soon be home so they could celebrate privately.

This soft hiss of anticipation on the wind must have conjured up all of Francis’s wishes into being, or else it was preceded by James’s knowing precisely when to make a grand entrance; no sooner had Francis expelled another deep breath than he heard the clatter of hooves outside, soon joined by the usual noise of someone exiting a carriage, and the low, hearty murmur of voices in the street before the carriage door was closed and it rolled on, rejoining the rest of London at a cheerful, prompt pace.

As the front door opened and closed, Francis could tell by the sound of the footsteps alone that all James hoped for had been achieved. He did not even need to see James’s face to know that the formal ceremony had gone well, as had the drink-fuelled celebrations following such a solemn occasion, so it was with anticipation prickling at his insides that he heard a knock at the study door, sitting upright in his chair as James entered, clearly having not enough patience to wait for an affirmation in response.

James, who was coiffed, beaming, resplendent: the plate-glass picture of a Naval officer in his dark uniform, with new epaulettes gleaming on his shoulder and an ornate saber once again sparkling at his side. His dark, curled hair shone almost as beautifully as the gold threads in his Captain’s uniform. His cheeks were ruddy with the champagne, or perhaps just the sheer pleasure of being able to celebrate his promotion at long last, with those friends of his former rank who had loved and known him longest.

Francis, who had not yet replaced the ink-laden quill in its inkwell, put down his writing instrument at once, and hastily removed the well to the windowsill that looked out into the heath, fingers trembling. “What, ah.” His mouth had gone dry; he cleared his throat to speak. “How was the wetting-down?”

“Went well,” said James. The way his mouth worked after he said this, fighting to temper the grin that lit up his face, meant he wanted to say much more than this. “Very, very well.”

“I am glad of it.” Francis offered him a smile, noting how handsomely the afternoon sunlight caught the new strands of gold braid at James’s shoulders. “Did Dundy and Charlewood soak you in champagne?”

“Naturally,” said James, brushing that stray curl out of his eyes with the back of one white-gloved finger; the pads of his fingers were still pristine even after hours of wild celebration. Francis could not look away from the sheer juxtaposition of such loveliness: the dark navy wool and smartly-oiled hair contrasted against bright brass and gold and the shock of white cleaving to James’s long, elegant hands. “Though I drew a firm line at them pouring it over my head. Or pushing me into the ocean.”

“Likely you’ve had enough of pier-jumping to last a lifetime, to be sure,” said Francis.

James’s smile turned softer, then, and his eyes narrowed in a knowing manner; rousing Francis to full attention in less time than the bark of an admiral arriving on deck. “You were much-missed, you know.”

“Hardly think a group of young lieutenants would miss an old sea dog like myself,” Francis protested, glancing over at the letter trays of James’s writing desk to avoid being caught out, even as those dark, feline eyes lingered on his heated cheeks and visibly-trembling hands.

“One former lieutenant did, and does. Most ardently.”

“Well.” Francis’s breath came shallow and fast now, felt he so pinned in place by James’s intent stare. “He is a full Captain now, with the smart new uniform to boot. He may do whatsoever he likes.”

The lovely pink blush on James’s face had spread to his neck, now, pinking his shapely throat like a sunset at the edge of the ocean. His voice, low and rich, sent a shiver down Francis’s back. “What should you have this Captain do to you, hm?”

“I—” Francis could not give voice to such dirtiness, could only glance down at the bulge in his trousers in helpless, desperate want. “Observe it, here.”

“I do,” agreed James, who made no move to doff any piece of his uniform, merely glanced Francis up and down with heady, barely-suffused delight as he tucked both hands behind his back, as if gleefully preparing to inspect the men and assign duty owing. “Is this yet another reason you wished to hide in the shadows to-day, dear Francis?”

Francis squirmed like a schoolboy, unable to answer, even while knowing his silence was all the answer James needed.

“Do you run such visible fevers each time you see me clad in full uniform?”

“You wear it very well indeed,” Francis croaked as he shifted in his seat, feeling all the more miserable at having to admit to such folly. “As I have told you many times.”

“Ah, but I could do more than merely showcase such handsome clothes to you.” James moved, now, leveraging his gold-tipped walking stick as a balancing point even as he skated gentle fingers up its thin length, caressing the handle between finger and thumb in a way that made Francis’s length twitch in his trousers. “As a full captain of Discovery Service, I am bade to aid each of my men’s happiness, wherever possible.”

Shuddering with the force of his longing, Francis nodded, biting his lip to keep the words from escaping his lips.  _ I wish you would fuck me right here. _

“Francis,” said James, discarding the walking stick and stepping closer, placing the flat of his gloved palm against Francis’s placket. Francis gasped as a sudden spurt of excitement wet his smallclothes. “Stand up and shift yourself this instant, or I shall be forced to move you bodily.”

The whimper that flew from his throat as James pulled him up from his chair by his waistcoat, placed strong, grasping hands on his hips, and oriented him to face the desk was loud and shocking enough; even more so was the manner in which James’s prick, wantonly hard within his uniform trousers, bobbed out to meet first the fabric of Francis’s own trousers, then his thin smallclothes, and then at last bare skin. He whined a second time as James snaked a hand around his thick middle, grasping at Francis’s half-clothed prick with taut slow jerks, the soft cotton of his white glove soft and delicious as it dragged across heated flesh.

“Nnnh.” Francis’s hips bucked forward in spite of himself; he had to brace both hands against the desk as his knees threatened to give out entirely. “Christ. You’d tease me now?”

“No,” said James, plain and sharp. Kicking the rolling chair away from the backs of their legs, he dropped to his knees, and without preamble, spread Francis apart with both gloved hands before leaning in to feast.

“Jesus God!” Francis quaked under the assault of that clever, searching tongue. His cock twitched and spurted again, a thread of clear fluid now trailing an obscene path across the woodgrain. One of James’s hands toyed at the buttons of his shirt, seeking out the stiff nipple beneath the fabric; when his fingers closed around it, combined with the slick plundering of James’s tongue against puffy heated flesh, Francis cried out, his head dropping forward as his eyes shuttered closed.

“Fuck me. Oh, fuck me.”

James made a feral, delighted sound, yanking Francis’s smallclothes and trousers past his knees before thundering to his feet and unbuckling his gold belt. The saber and medals and lengths of gold rope clinked together as they were unceremoniously shoved aside; Francis shivered as he awaited his reward. All he wanted was James’s cock filling him and James’s hands on his body, taking his fill and his due as a full Captain.

When James pulled off a glove and tossed it to one side, Francis knew it was nearly time; when James reached around them again and gathered the evidence of Francis’s excitement along warm bare fingers, pressing in and around and beneath the head of his now-dripping cock, the knowing caress sent a ripple of delight skittering down Francis’s spine. He would use it as slick; he would merge the two of them before they would be merged in earnest, he would—

James’s blunt, hot head pressed up against him and then inside him, causing Francis to shudder and pitch forward, mouth parting, scrabbling against the papers scattered across the desktop as he tried to hold still. He could not. His legs shook from the effort. His blood was up and roaring through his limbs and his ears like a thunderclap through an icy bay.

“Oh!”

Several closed ink bottles and a few sticks of wax rattled and tipped onto their sides as James seated himself. The sweet, hot huff of breath in Francis’s ear was almost enough to ruin him, as was James snaking another arm around his chest to hold them both fast. 

“Steady, old boy.”

He set a pace, then, ambitious and quick as a race-horse; Francis could only try to keep standing as rushing tides of pleasure built up inside him and threatened to unmoor him, as James’s brass buttons pressed into his back hard enough to be felt through his thin shirt.

“Good Christ,” Francis wailed, sagging down against braced forearms as James fucked him with quick snaps of his hips, rough and hard, now grasping fistfuls of his belly and one thigh along with generous amounts of bunched-up fabric. “Captain Fitzjames!”

“Again,” James growled, moving one hand lower to tug at Francis’s cock; the sudden rasp of James’s bare palm on him made Francis stutter and groan. Even from this angle, he could smell the massacar oil on James’s hair; he could feel those soft curls tickling over his neck and jaw as James fucked him. “Tell me.”

“Captain Fitzjames,” Francis hissed as James’s free arm came around his chest, pulling him so close that his long hot cock pressed against his most sensitive place with each full stroke. “Nnnh! Captain, you feel—”

“Yes,” hissed James, leaving-damp fingers now splayed against Francis’s chest as sharp teeth nipped at Francis’s ear. Francis felt his vision dapple as surely as if he had stared directly into the sun, and braced himself for his looming crisis.

“You’ll make me—!”

“Yes, Francis.” James’s breath in his ear, desperate and panting, and his cock driving deeper inside. Francis could hear that long saber rattling against the drawers of the desk with each thrust, and was made insensible by it. “Now. Spend for me.”

“I’ll—!”

“Spend for your Captain.”

The hand that had been mercilessly tugging at his cock thumbed swiftly over Francis’s dripping head, and it was done. Keening, Francis seized, spilling across the desk in long hot ropes, and collapsed here with his face buried in a pile of perfumed stationery, strained muscles tightening around James’s thrusting length till he felt James stutter and spill inside him, groaning as he buried himself deep and took his pleasure.

Yet James remained relentless; no sooner had he recovered from his own crisis than he took Francis in hand again. Francis bucked and wailed and was soon spoilt for choice within minutes, not knowing whether to thrust forward into those clever fingers or ground back against James’s softening length. Either way, his Captain’s determined ministrations would not be subdued; soon enough, Francis found himself drooling open-mouthed against the perfumed stationery once more as James whipped him into an utter thrashing frenzy, now breaching him with one firm finger in addition to his half-hard cock.

“Once more, darling.” His free hand found Francis’s stones, pulled and caressed them, causing Francis’s thighs to quiver in a telltale manner. “Once more for me.”

“Oh, god, James—”

“Shhh, good man, good man, let me feel you, let me rub at you.”

“So fucking good.”

“Almost there, darling,” James encouraged him, adjusting the angle as he thrust in again, quickening the rhythm. His strokes became sharp and smooth as glass. “There, Francis.”

“Christ!” Francis wailed as James’s finger hit its target; once, twice, again, clawing fruitlessly at the space below the shelves of the desk as his pleasure ratcheted higher. “Yes. Nnnnh!”

This time, he spilled folded up against the middle drawers like the bowl of a bent spoon, shuddering and gasping as James claimed him, imagining the wool of that prized Captain’s uniform soaked through with sweat in all the wrong places, or seeing the flies of his trousers marked by an errant rivulet of spend, oh, god, he was still quaking like a mid in the ropes as James sped up his thrusts in earnest, oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, yes, Christ and all the saints, surely he’d not get a third—

When Francis returned to himself, he was panting face-down on the desk, limp and sweating, arse raised high in the air; James was still lying atop him, breathing heavily, but clearly trying not to smother him with his full weight, judging by the way he was propping himself up on the tabletop with one hand.

“‘S a fine way to celebrate,” he was saying now, giddy and half-drunk from the exertion in addition to any champagne he might or might not have swigged with the lieutenants. “Finest any man’s ever had.”

“Take me to bed,” Francis rasped, feeling bold. He grasped for James’s hip amid the haze of pleasure that consumed him, and touched only a few lengths of gold braid for his trouble. “We’ll find more.”

James snorted out an amused noise, placing a warm, soft hand on Francis’s bare lower back before withdrawing. “Fall asleep on me, more like.”

“I’ll not!” Francis protested, even as a pleasant lassitude spread through his pliant limbs.

Laughing, James laved an obscene, open-mouthed kiss beneath the hinge of Francis’s jaw, then got to his feet before Francis could turn his head or reciprocate in any way, tottering in his blacked boots as he delivered a soft caress and then a little slap to Francis’s bare, likely very reddened, buttocks.

“Up with you, then, sir,” he said softly, in the sort of easy, confident command Francis had not heard since Greenhithe. “We shall see if you are a man of your word.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [TomBowline's fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26680405) for the inspiration.
> 
> Title taken from the Walt Whitman poem, [I Sing the Body Electric](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45472/i-sing-the-body-electric):
> 
> _The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,  
>  He too is all qualities, he is action and power,  
> The flush of the known universe is in him,  
> Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,  
> The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him,  
> The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,  
> Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself,  
> Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here,  
> (Where else does he strike soundings except here?)  
> _


End file.
